The matter was closed. I stared at the back of Nefertiti’s head; her resplendent hair was gathered up beneath a jewelled head-dress. Despite her pregnancy she sat majestically, back straight, eyes staring assuredly out, quietly baiting the likes of Shishnak and the rest. I recalled my own bravery in the Temple of Amun. I had not been publicly rewarded yet her smile, her loving gestures, had been satisfaction enough. She glanced round as Hotep raised other business. I caught her impish smile even as Queen Tiye leaned over and whispered to her son.
‘You have offered grave insult to Shishnak. Retaliation must follow.’
The Royal Circle moved from one item of business to another. The despatch of heralds and messengers, the strengthening of troops beyond the Third Cataract, the incursion of desert raiders against merchants, the despatch of chariots along the Horus Road to protect the diamond mines of Sinai. Routine business. My mind drifted to Sobeck, Aunt Isithia, other matters, only to be drawn back to Nefertiti’s hair. As the murmured conversation continued, I composed a poem:
My reverie was broken by Shishnak’s grating voice. He was talking about Tushratta, the King of Mitanni, and a scribe was distributing tablets of hardened polished clay — letters from the Mitanni court in the birdlike Akkadian script. Shishnak talked swiftly, about the importance of Egypt’s alliance with the Mitanni, how those who lived between the Upper Tigris and the Euphrates were a vital element in this alliance.
‘Princess Tadukhiya,’ Shishnak stared round the Royal Circle, ‘of Narahin is a most comely young woman. Fellow councillors, you may recall how she was sent into Egypt to marry the Crown Prince Tuthmosis, who has now gone into the Glorious West.’ Shishnak gestured at Akhenaten. ‘The Mitanni still expect us to honour our treaty’s obligations: their Princess must marry the Son of Egypt, its Pharaoh.’ Shishnak had loosed his bolt at the obvious love between Akhenaten and Nefertiti. The silence was palpable but the shift in Nefertiti’s shoulders, the way Akhenaten’s head came back, spoke eloquently of their anger.
‘I have a wife.’ Akhenaten’s voice was harsh. He gestured to Nefertiti. ‘I have a wife,’ he repeated. ‘The heiress, Fair of Form, Lady of Graciousness, Worthy of Love, Beloved of the Aten, Mistress of Upper and Lower Egypt, Great Wife of the King.’ His voice rose to a shout of defiance. ‘She Whom He loves, Lady of the Two Lands, May she live for ever and ever!’
‘Quite so. Quite so,’ Hotep replied, bowing to Nefertiti. ‘But now, my lord, you are joint ruler of the Two Lands. We have allies to please, treaties to keep, obligations to meet …’
Later at the Palace of the Aten, I was part of the heated exchanges between Akenhaten, Nefertiti and Ay about the marriage proposal made by Hotep and Shishnak. Oh, they had accepted Akhenaten’s speech, they had offered no insult. They had pointed out how the Divine One’s harem was full of princesses from every corner of the empire and beyond. So, for the sake of Egypt, Akhenaten would have to follow his father’s example. At last Queen Tiye had intervened and, in a worldweary voice, declared that her son must reflect on the advice offered and make his reply. The meeting of the Royal Circle ended. Akhenaten and Nefertiti had not even let Meryre finish gabbling the prayers before they rose, gave the most perfunctory of bows, and swept out of the Council Chamber. Nefertiti had controlled her anger, not so much at the marriage alliance but at Shishnak’s impudence. Now, in the shadows of the hall of audience, she gave vent to her fury.
‘I will take Shishnak’s head,’ she swore, ‘pluck out those venomous eyes and pickle them in salt. I’ll take those lips and sew them together with twine.’ Hands resting on her swollen abdomen, she stared solemnly at me then burst out laughing. ‘Ah well,’ she sighed, ‘it will have to be done.’
Akhenaten nodded.
‘It will have to be done,’ Ay confirmed, ‘and the sooner the better. My lord, they hope you will refuse. They will invoke your father’s will’ — he caught Akhenaten’s glance — ‘I mean the Magnificent One.’
‘Where is she now,’ Akhenaten asked, ‘this Mitanni princess?’
‘In the white-walled city,’ Ay replied, ‘in a mansion outside Memphis.’
‘She is to be brought South,’ Akhenaten replied. Leaning over, he caressed his wife’s swollen stomach, kissing her on the shoulder, neck and face.
‘Every soul has its song,’ he whispered, ‘and you are mine. Only you, Heiress of Egypt, Woman of the Sacred Line and the Holy Blood, will bear my child. Only the issue of our bodies and souls will wear the crowns of Egypt. You are my Princess and my altar.’
Ay grasped my hand and gestured with his head to leave. We rose, bowed and left Akhenaten and Nefertiti lost in each other.
The decision had been made. Both myself and Ay were left to supervise the practical details. Akhenaten’s decision to marry the Mitanni Princess was proclaimed later that day. Ay was distracted, being more concerned with implementing more changes in the great palace. Nakhtimin, with his bland eyes and secretive face, was promoted to Standard Bearer of the Royal Household with direct command over the imperial bodyguard. Another kinsman of Queen Tiye, Anen, was given high office in the priesthood of Amun. Those who could not be trusted were also dealt with. Certain Generals were despatched North to the Delta, chief scribes were found fresh employment in other cities along the Nile or sent on so-called urgent business to the provinces. Leading citizens of Thebes, not to mention the Keepers of the Secrets, were constantly entertained and regaled at the Palace of the Aten. Akhenaten and Nefertiti didn’t seem to care about such details. They were more concerned with their own whispered conversations, visiting the House of Paintings or supervising the construction of a small altar to the Aten. Real power rested with Ay. He met with notables, supervised the construction of more buildings, linking Akhenaten’s palace to my old House of Instruction where the children of the Kap had been raised. Warehouses, storerooms, and granaries were built to house Akhenaten’s newfound wealth and status: the Per Hagu, the House of Foodstuffs, the Per Nuble, the House of Gold, the Per Ehu, the House of Oxen, the Per Asheu, the House of Fruits and, above all, the Per Ahuu, the House of War, with its armouries stocked full of spears, shields, swords and daggers. Ay gave responsibility for the House of War to me as he did the construction of more barracks and the selection of mercenaries to swell Akhenaten’s personal military retinue.
My master only became interested in these new buildings once they had been completed and were ready for decoration. Then he’d become feverishly involved, insisting the halls be flooded with light, that the carved columns of wood were to be painted in different colours, the doors festooned in gold and silver and the lintels decorated with flashing lapis lazuli and malachite. He personally supervised the paintings on the walls and the layout of the new gardens. He’d go out as the ground was broken up and shout instructions at the workers, where to plant, how to sow grass, how to cast seed, plant bushes and shrubs so as to catch both the sun and the rain.
Days passed one into the other. Ay received reports from Thebes and the rest of the palace: he discussed these with me before moving into council with Akhenaten and Nefertiti. One morning Snefru, now Captain of my personal guard, interrupted a meeting to say we had a visitor. I hardly recognised the old man leaning against the courtyard wall with his snow-white hair, wrinkled face and watery eyes.